Control
by Corazie
Summary: Because Effy's in control. She's the Queen Bee, indestructible... Isn't she?


A story from SkinsLife C2.

* * *

You're flying. Your head is spinning. But you're in **Control**, aren't you?

Another one is always good. Wash it down with whatever cheap alcohol you have, what ever that guy with the eyes glued to your skinny legs went in to the shop and bought for you. You couldn't really give a toss about what it is, it was cheap, and it's doing the job of washing down the organic taste of the chunky pills and keeping your mouth moist. Cider perhaps.

It's cold on the bench you're sat on, the black paint flaking off, rust hooking on to your fishnets so that when you stand up you'll have bigger holes on top of the regular, uniform holes. You won't care though. You didn't pay for them and so it doesn't matter. You'll just not pay for another pair or five tomorrow, when you waltz in to Primark and buy something equally cheap, fishnets pressed to your skin inside the waist band of your short skirt, worn purposely to distract the security guards.

You accept whatever is handed to you. It's a cigarette you think, until you inhale deeply and feel the sickly sweetness of spice. Everyone has that grin on their face. The one that means that the pondies are starting to work and the power of the spice is taking hold. Spice is cheaper than green or blow, and all you need to do is lean across the counter as you buy it, putting an idea in to the shop keepers head, an idea that will never develop in to anything more, but will satisfy the old mans craving for flesh younger than that of his baggy skinned and grey haired wife.

Everyone is getting restless now, and it's nearing the time. Somebody hands you a half bottle of vodka and you push it in to your bag to nestle between you phone and your purse and your Marlboro Lights. Time is getting on, it's nearing nine o'clock, the time of the party.

It's a childhood thing, a chance to go back and remember what you did before drink, and then tabs, and then spice, and then pondies were introduced to you. When you spent days upon end making that den in the nature reserve, a place to hang out, where the wind was kept out and it was always dry. A magnificent piece of engineering from thirteen year old boys and girls, hidden away inside a deep forest.

You feel a hand on your leg, but you really don't care. You're used this when you've dropped a few and drank a bit and smoked some stuff. It tingles in that nice way and you know who it is, but you don't turn your head towards him, not yet. The time for such things comes later, when you're at the den and there's a fire and more drink and more drugs and everyone and everything merges in to one, a big coloured blur.

The hand on your leg moves and the hand is on your hand, pulling you up so you're on your feet. Your fishnets smack on to the back of your thighs, ripped from the rust of the bench. You stumble and are glad that you ditched the heels. It was raining yesterday and the ground is still wet. When you get to the nature reserve you'll be even more thankful for the scruffy converse on your feet. You feel a hand on your lower back, guiding you as everyone starts to walk. You know who it is from the tingle you get from his touch. The hand moves lower, on to the curve that the barely decent skirt is attempting to cover. And because it's him you don't care.

You leave the crumbling pavement and start the trek across the grass, watching out for the dog shit that the owners were so kind to leave behind rather than pick up. The orange glow from the streetlight is fading behind you now and your eyes are adjusting quickly to the light cast by the moon, a smooth crescent against the pitch black of night. Your phone vibrates against the glass of the vodka bottle and you take it out and slide it up.

U R?

You don't even bother to reply, your fingers wouldn't work in such a way as to form words from the numbers and so you don't even try. You'll be there soon anyway and then the party will start for real and you'll drop and drink a few more, just to make sure that you're up there. Just to make sure that you're flying. But you know you'll be in control of everything. You're the Queen Bee and nothing can touch you.

* * *

Should this stay as a one shot or continue?


End file.
